


Almost Like a Fairy Tale

by darling_pet



Series: The Flash S05 Drabbles [22]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014), The Flash - All Media Types
Genre: Chases, Cinderella Elements, Danger, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Ficlet, First Meetings, Fluff, Français | French, Kissing, Meet-Cute, Metahumans, One Shot, Reader-Insert, Romance, S05E21, abilities, charming sherloque
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-03-01 05:31:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18793981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darling_pet/pseuds/darling_pet
Summary: Following a seemingly normal shift at your second job, you leave for home only to be pursued by a fearsome woman and her daggers. Not to mention meeting your handsome French prince after the whole ordeal…





	Almost Like a Fairy Tale

**Author's Note:**

> Flash Drabble (Ficlet?) S05E21

The clock in the hallway chimes midnight, and while you would expect your night to end with remembering a plethora of romantic dancing, spinning in a dress, or losing a glass slipper, that is far,  _far_ from reality.

By 12:07 am, you have shut your locker in the custodial room of Central City University, leaving in your athleisure wear and hair in a messy bun. That’s right. You work as a custodian for the university - a way to scrounge up extra money in this hella expensive city. It is by no means glamorous. No job mopping floors and scrubbing public toilets ever are, but you pull through to stay afloat. At least you get to listen to some bangin’ tunes and audiobooks while you work.

It’s 12:14 when you finally make your way down the school’s steps. There had been light rain earlier, it would seem, because the pavement glistens under the yellow lamp posts in the courtyard. You hear a sort of rustling from behind, finding that when you turn, it’s the most frightening looking woman with glowing daggers.

“You’re one of them,” she growls. You can’t find your breath - you’re running full speed and you don’t know why. All you know is you don’t want this crazy chick laying a hand on you. Reaching another set of concrete steps, you realize this is going to slow you down.

But when your pursuer catches up with you halfway down, she clutches your neck from behind as you hear a, “ _No_!” from somewhere ahead. But you barely register the voice because you let out one of your screams - your metahuman ability - which results in the attacker vanishing from thin air in the vibrational intensity of your screech. You still haven’t learned where things (or people) go when this happens.

_She’s going to be back. She’ll be back, I know it, I have to-_

The sheer power your ability took from you causes you to stumble. You know you’re about to crash to the pavement but are surprised when the moment never arrives. Instead, there’s a pair of arms bracing you, and you feel a chest in front of you with your hands. Sturdy.

At 12:18, you look into the crystal blue eyes of a hat-wearing prince with long hair and light stubble. Not your typical prince, but a handsome one, for sure.

“ _Allô_ , are you alright,  _mademoiselle_?”

Charming, too.

“Yes. Yes, I think so,” you reply, doing a self-check to make certain. “I need to leave. I don’t want to be here if she comes back. But thank you for catching me. I’m sure my dentist, my bank account and I would thank you equally. Have a good night.”

You’re in such a flurry of fright, surprise, and adrenaline that you never even notice…

“ _Excusez-moi_ ,” the French-accented man says, “but err, I believe you forgot something?”

You turn back, to find him holding a shoe. Your tennis shoe. Your scuffed up, dirty, and potentially odorous tennis shoe.

“Oh,” is all you can say. The man kneels to present it to you, then looks up expectantly. You place your foot into the shoe, half expecting it not to fit this time for some reason, but of course it does.

“Ah, it fits,” he remarks happily.

“Thank you,” you reply lamely.

“May I walk you home? It would not seem right to have you do so alone after what has just occurred? Not that you cannot defend yourself! I mean,  _mon Dieu_ , that was  _extraordinaire_. But  _s'il vous plaît_ , please, allow me this courtesy.”

_He rambles. That’s cute._

“Yes, okay. I will allow you to walk me home.”

“ _Magnifique_! Let’s go.” Your mystery man lends his arm to you, to which you take.

It’s precisely 12:35 when you reach the door to your apartment building and kiss the man’s cheek in thanks. Immediately after, you try to read his expression, and it’s still 12:35 when you kiss his lips and again when he kisses you back. When the two of you part, he raises his eyebrow in a way that seems to read,  _well damn_. Only, perhaps the French equivalent. The man, whose name you have still yet to learn, leans down to press his lips to the back of your hand.

“I don’t even know your name,” you say, along with your own name as an introduction with the last bit of breath in your lungs.

“Sherloque,” he replies with a dreamy smile.

“Will I ever see you again?”

He winks.

“ _À bientôt, ma princesse_.”

This Sherloque fellow tips his hat to you and carries on down the block and into the night by 12:41.

Cinderella wished she had a night like yours.


End file.
